


Do Not Leave Unattended

by Lauralot



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Desperation, Electrocution, HYDRA Trash Party, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Multi, Past Rape/Non-con, Penetration with a Foreign Object
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 22:32:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2558096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauralot/pseuds/Lauralot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a list of operatives who are not to be left alone with the Winter Soldier.  It's meant as a protective, preventative measure.</p><p>It's mostly just an inconvenience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do Not Leave Unattended

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://hydratrashmeme.dreamwidth.org/587.html?thread=921163#cmt921163) on the HYDRA Trash meme: _You can't just fire people from Hydra, and Pierce doesn't like losing good operatives anyway._
> 
> _When your workforce is made up of evil sadistic fucks, though, you're bound to run into problems with your smolderingly hot super soldier that will put anything you tell him to in his mouth._
> 
> _The solution? Pierce has a list posted in every room of the facility with the names of all personnel that are not permitted to be alone with the asset. The list gets longer and longer every year, and eventually leads to obnoxious staffing problems._
> 
> There's now an audio version of this fic available [here.](http://lauralot89.tumblr.com/post/107322279071/as-requested-by-0met-and-perplexedhedgehog-heres)

Rollins is playing Candy Crush. 

That’s a problem, because they have five minutes before they have to be in the van and the Soldier chooses now to make a low sound in his throat and tilt his head toward the hall with the restrooms. Rumlow would be inclined to ignore him, but the man doesn’t ask for things unless he has no choice. And technically it’s been fourteen months since the Soldier last had the opportunity to relieve himself. “Rollins. The asset’s gotta piss.” 

“Too much information, sir.” Rollins doesn’t look up. 

“Rollins.” 

“He’s a big boy, he can take a leak on his own,” Rollins says. He’s still staring at his phone. 

So is the asset, who looks tempted to throw it against the wall. 

“Cortez is in there. Get your ass up.” 

On the door of every room of every HYDRA facility Rumlow’s ever set foot in hangs a list. The formatting is always the same even when the language changes. **NOTICE** , it reads in red across the top, and then in black: **DO NOT LEAVE THE ASSET UNATTENDED WITH THE FOLLOWING.** Below that lies the ever-growing list of names. 

The list was a mandate from Pierce, going on eight years ago now. It’s meant to prevent anyone from fucking the asset out of commission or short-circuiting his arm with too much lubricant, without having to dispose of HYDRA’s otherwise valuable operatives. What it mostly does is make scheduling lunch breaks really damn annoying. The list has grown at a steady pace over the years, but Cortez was one of the very first names on it. The agent was caught with a stun baton up the Soldier’s ass. He claimed he was trying to perform an emergency memory wipe.

“So let him go when Cortez comes out,” Rollins says. “I just started a new level.” 

“If we had an hour, I would.” Rumlow feels the Soldier’s gaze snap to him. The man’s rocking a little in his seat. “But we don’t. So either put the damn phone down or explain to Pierce that we missed the target because you’re an asshole. We’re already running late.” 

“Just think,” says Rollins, still tapping away at the touch screen. “If you’d been able to keep off his dick, you could take him.” 

“I wasn’t on his dick, I was helping him change!” Rumlow ignores the increasingly imploring stare boring into him, glowering. Everyone on the list has an excuse. Rumlow’s is the only _true_ one. He’s filed to appeal the placement, but _everybody’s_ filed to appeal the placement. A year later and he’s yet to hear back. 

Rollins smirks. “On your knees?” 

“I was tying my shoes. Fuck off.” 

There’s another low, grunting sound from the Soldier. Neither of them looks his way. 

“Sure.” Rollins still hasn’t bothered to raise his head. “And I guess it was Carmex smeared all over your mouth?” 

“That was never proven!” Rumlow seethes, teeth grinding. “Sitwell made that up ‘cause he was pissed I caught him with the asset under his desk and you know it. Now _haul your ass_ or we’ll have a repeat of São Paulo. And I’ll make you mop it up.” 

“Have Murphy take him,” Rollins says. “I’m on a roll.” 

“I’m on the list,” Murphy mutters, his gaze suddenly fixed on the cracks in the floor tiles. 

Rollins finally looks up at that. Rumlow hopes he loses his game. “What? Since when?” 

Murphy just shrugs, coughing. 

“Since last week,” Rumlow says. “You didn’t notice they switched out all the signs?” He wonders how many trees die whenever HYDRA updates the list. It’s got to be a small forest’s worth at least. 

“They’re always switching out the signs.” Rollins’s mouth is hanging open. “The asset was in _ice_ last week, what the fuck is wrong with you people?” 

“It’s not like that!” Murphy protests, red-faced. “I was just—I was planking on the cryo-tank, okay? One of the techs thought I was dry-humping it or something.” 

“Probably because you had no pants,” Rumlow says. 

Phone forgotten, Rollins buries his face in his hands. “Who even planks anymore? You’re all sick in the head.” 

“I was drunk and Anders—”

“We can discuss Murphy’s regrettable life choices _after_ the asset takes a piss.” Rumlow looks to his watch. Under two minutes before their transport out. “Rollins. _Now_.”

“Fine. Christ, I hope blowing him was worth all this micromanaging.” 

Rollins barely stands up before the Soldier is off, knocking his chair over with the sudden burst of movement. He’s almost out the door in a single second without a look back and only Rumlow’s call of “wait” stops him. He can’t be in the hall unattended; it’s an automatic suspension for everyone on the team if he’s spotted alone. 

“Don’t worry about washing his hands,” Rumlow adds as Rollins moves toward the Soldier pouting in the doorway. “We’ve got sanitizer in our packs. But for God’s sake make sure his fly’s zipped.” The last thing they need is for that to be forgotten in their rush to get out, and for Rollins to end up on the list as well. 

Their transport is delayed by thirty seconds; they’re off the instant the Soldier’s in the van, before Rumlow and Murphy can fully close the doors. To say they’re speeding is putting it mildly. It’s not really a surprise when there are sirens on the interstate behind them, though that doesn’t make it any less infuriating. 

No, blowing the Soldier was not worth all this.


End file.
